


A General Among Parahumans

by TheHatterOfMad



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Ambition, Anti-Hero, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Cyborgs, Gen, Science Fiction, The Guild - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHatterOfMad/pseuds/TheHatterOfMad
Summary: General Grievous finds himself on Earth Bet circa 2006. Cut off from the Confederacy of Independant Systems, he will have to make do with nothing but his own ability, the tools he brought with him and whatever allies he can make.





	1. 1.1

I had lost.

That slime, Kenobi, had beaten me - killed me.

Yet he obviously failed to finish the job: I still drew wretched breath after wretched breath, each one worse than the last - a remaining artifact of my battle with Windu a scant few days ago. Was this cursed existence yet more torture wrought upon me by the vile Jedi? One of their infamous mind manipulations?

I had awoken a few hours ago, wracked by fits of coughing. Once I brought my focus to bear, I quickly found that I was completely cut off from whatever remained of the Confederacies’ assets - my communicators received not even a canned response from the automated systems that should be pinging me back. So too was I removed from any droid units - not that they would be of much use anyway.

Around me was a vast expanse of uninhabited arid landscape - not a sign of civilization in sight. Wherever I am, I’m definitely not on Utapau anymore. Despite the desolacy, my internal sensors registered a significant amount of artificial EM frequencies - at least there was a civilized presence of some sort on this rock. Whatever encryptions or protocols the signals used were unknown to me, and so they remained uninterpreted.

A cursory assessment of the state of my body left me confused - despite my memories of the protracted battle with Kenobi, I remained in the state I was in before the fight - largely undamaged. Fortunately enough, I still possessed my cloak, the four lightsabers within and a holdout blaster. A quick check of the levels of my internally supplied nutritional paste confirmed that I had full reserves: enough to last a week in a survival situation.

The unfortunate reality was that this was likely to develop into such a situation - regardless of how much I wish to visit destruction upon whatever led to my stranding on this backwater. I managed to quash my anger. There was a time for rage - when dealing with Jedi scum or brainless droids - and a time for focus - now.

Seeing few other options, I picked a direction and began walking.

I found signs of civilization before long: decrepit wooden fences, roads made of material unworthy of the name duracrete and a pale imitation of power transmission poles. Just what sort of planet was I on? I need to rejoin with the Confederacy soon - those fools that had been sent to Mustafar were undoubtedly making a mess of the war effort in my absence. 

All roads lead to civilization, and where there’s civilization there’s a spaceport.

Time passes. Twelve hours of doing nothing more than putting one foot in front of another, the harsh yellow sun beating down far above me, being harrowed by this accursed hacking all throughout.

The discomfort was trivial, of course - I have faced and will face worse - but it’s persistence was particularly aggravating. If I were to have another chance at the detestable Jedi that had inflicted this torment upon me, he would not survive the encounter.

My mind was not idle, however. The Confederacy was in a bad way after our most recent string of defeats and it would require the daring implementation of some unconventional stratagems if I were to ever swing the war back in our favour.

Eventually, I reached what could tentatively be called civilization - an outpost settlement of some sort, it’s buildings barely poking above the horizon. Finally - I could rid myself of this backwater and be on my way.

I adjusted my posture. Now was a time to project confidence and authority. If these were Confederate citizens, they would yield a spacecraft out of loyalty, and agreement they would be reimbursed at a later date. If they were Republic citizens, then they would do the same but out of fear and with no expectation of repayment.

Still, it remains a puzzle to me just how I found myself in this situation - waking up on an unknown planet with no memories of how you arrived there was not a situation I had to deal with often.

And so I strode into the outpost. The outskirts were largely uninhabited - metal sheds and material stockpiles of some sort. Eventually, the buildings changed to residences - all wooden. There was not a single prefab in sight - if whoever inhabited this outpost did not use prefabs, just how poor was this planet?

Inside the residences I could see humans, cowering in fear, trying and failing not to be seen. Some held devices to their ear - communicators? I repress a snort. All the better if these craven call for the authorities of wherever I am - it would save me the trouble of seeking them out myself.

I continued to walk further into the outpost, paying no mind to the civilians. Just as I had hoped, a pair of vehicles peripherally resembling landspeeders intercepted me. The vehicles were entirely land-bound - operating by wheels rather than repulsorlifts. Across the front and side of the vehicles was the word ‘Police’ in large font.

If the law enforcement was using such primitive vehicles, this must truly be a dirt poor planet. That begs the question - if they are so poor, why are they writing in the High Galactic Alphabet and not Aurebesh?

I stop, allowing for the officers to exit their vehicles. There was four of them - all human. They were not dressed in any sort of uniform that I recognised. One approaches me, very clearly nervous. I suppress a chuckle - if their law enforcement agents are nervous, then my reputation has likely preceded me.

It swallows. “Can we help you?”

I blink. ‘Can we help you?’ What sort of line was that? Doesn’t matter. I’ll be off this rock soon enough.

“Yes-” A cough forces its way to the surface, interrupting me. “You can tell me exactly which backwater planet I’m on, the current date and directions to the nearest spaceport.” I manage to finish the rest of the sentence before another round of coughs tears it’s way free.

The four of them exchange glances - what were they doing? They were simple enough questions, weren’t they? A few moments pass, and one returns to it’s vehicle. The one that had spoken to me turns back to me.

It pauses for a few moments, searching for words. “It is currently January first, two-thousand and six. You’re on planet Earth -” The officer was interrupted by the officer that had returned to the vehicle’s approach. The two begin to exchange hushed words.

I pay them no mind - ‘Earth’ was not a planet I had heard of, nor was the date in any system I recognised. This bodes poorly for my prospects. I curse internally - I have no time for trivialities like this!

The officer finishes her conversation and turns back to me. “Do you remember how you got here?”

That’s… a pertinent question. My mind races - was my situation common for this planet? I clamp down on my thoughts and grind out an answer to the question. “No.” As much as I would like to simply fight my way through all of my problems, I need to know more first. I repeat my previous question “Where is the nearest spaceport?”

The officer glances towards another of the officers with a nervous frown. “I’m sorry sir, but Earth is not a space-travel capable planet.”

Not capable of space travel? Blasted primitives! I’d heard of their type before - backwards ingrates who shun technology. I barely manage to restrain my urge to separate her head from her shoulders - as cathartic as it would be, it would do me no favours with the locals. I’d never thought I’d ever have to deal with them, let alone be stranded on a planet full of them.

Seeing my agitation, the officer raised her hand, placatingly. Despite my wishes to the contrary, I erupt into a further fit of coughing. “Please, calm down, sir. We’ve experience helping people in your situation. Could you please follow us to the station so we may speak in private?”

The gesture may have been made in good faith, but it failed to do anything by strain my already weakening impulse control. I clamp down further - I can slaughter the lot of them once they’ve told me all they know and not a moment before. Get a grip! My coughs continue, worsening.

A few seconds pass and the officers exchange further looks with each other. One that hadn’t yet spoken to me asks “Are you ill, sir?”.

I finally get control of myself and manage to reply “No!” Another pair of coughs. “It doesn’t matter, let’s get moving.”

I may not have much patience for them, but these enforcers are the quickest way of situating myself. If this is truly a well-established technophobe planet, it is entirely possible that they’ve already destroyed all method of spaceflight they had in their possession.

If that’s the case, then I do not like my chances of building my own ship. Could I somehow get a message to the rest of the Confederates? I don’t like the chances of that either. Gah! Knowing the cursed Jedi, they could have trapped me on this rock as some sort of lesson in humility or other such rot.

I really don’t see any other reasons - if it had been the Confederacy who brought me back, why keep my crushed lungs? Let alone strand me on this planet? If it were the Jedi, then it at least makes a sort of twisted sense that they’d want to make my remaining life a painful exercise in futility as a loathsome form of vengeance for their fallen members.

Let the void take them! I’ll drag this sorry planet from obscurity and make the Jedi sorry they ever thought they could contain me even if it would be the last thing I do! 

It’s obvious to me now that the Confederacy will have to cope without my presence for the foreseeable future - not something they’re likely to be capable of. Perhaps I would be able to pick up the remnants after their inevitable defeat and use them to form a Confederacy of my own - one not the result of Dooku’s politicking?

I may despise the practice, but I cannot deny the efficacy that Dooku wielded his influence with. I’d observed enough to learn the basic strategies of his method - it was a simple thing, really. Could I apply that acumen to ends of my own?

Now that’s a thought…

Unfortunately, one that will have to wait for some time. If things are as poor as I fear on this planet, it may be the death of me before I see it through. I have the knowledge of how to maintain my upgrades - given the appropriate toolset, but it is a different question entirely as to whether I’ll have access to such tools. The medical aspect, too, is questionable - operating on myself is just asking for trouble… 

No, if I’m trapped on this rock, I need allies and resources.

I curse internally - that means I’ve got to play nice with these apes. I repress my rage at that fact. It is clear to the officers that their vehicles are unsuited to carry my frame, so instead they lead me by foot through the outpost.

One of the officers walks beside me, and begins talking. “Welcome to Winton. I’ve heard stories about cases like yours - tragedies, really. The name’s Geoff. I know better than to ask your name, but I hope the higher ups can help you out.”

What does he mean by ‘know better than to ask your name’? I withhold a grumbled curse and offer pleasantries in return. No need to alienate the law enforcement on this planet - better if I could subvert them to my own ends. “Grievous” I manage to cough out.

“Pardon?” He glances at me, a confused look on his face.

“My name is Grievous.”

His brows shoots up in surprise. “You remember your name? Unusual for a case fifty-three, but I’m glad for you.”

I feel like I’m missing something here. “Case fifty-three? Is that what you call people that find themselves stranded on your planet?” Why would being stranded cause people to forget their name?

He glances to his fellow officer, who was talking in quiet tones on a communicator of some sort. “No, that’s the designation for capes with serious physical deformities and retrograde amnesia.”

I barely manage to withhold my urge to bisect him after the deformities comment. Retrograde? If anything I’ve got the opposite - I can’t remember anything that happened between my defeat and waking up here. “What do you mean by cape?” I am wearing my cloak still, but I doubt that was what he was referring to.

“People with extraordinary abilities. Most develop ‘em naturally, but we get one every couple of years pop up out of nowhere. First time we’ve seen one in this neck of the woods though - usually they appear out in the urban areas.”

Did he mean force sensitives? If only that were the case here. Still, if unexplained force sensitives with amnesia were appearing out of nowhere, that would lend credence to this being a sort of Jedi prison world.

Maybe whatever technique they use to wipe memories failed on me? Why would it do that though? My augmentations? Surely not - memories are stored in the brain, and I explicitly instructed my brain to be kept free of modification. Something else then. But what?

I don’t know. A question for another time - maybe when I’ve recruited a science division.

We spend the rest of the walk in silence. Eventually we reach our destination and I’m led inside. The first room is a lobby of some sort. Besides the five of us, there seems to be nobody around. One of the officers motion for me to take a seat on a couch. Two of the officers leave the room through a door - no doubt to handle other responsibilities or to communicate with their bosses.

Geoff and the woman who had initially spoken to me remain. I take a seat and the two of them sit opposite me. The couch strains to take my weight, but does not collapse. 

She begins to talk. “Now, I understand Geoff has given you a bit of background. We’ve called our superiors and they’re dispatching a cape to transport you into the city to help you get settled. You’re in cattle country right now - there isn’t another cape for hundreds of kilometres.”

Geoff nods. “Yeah. He’s due to arrive sometime soon. He’ll be getting you down to the Queensland Police HQ real fast - the boys down there’ll get you sorted.”

They’re sending a cape for transport? Why? ...Unless these capes aren’t force sensitives at all? That only raises more questions. I curse internally. I’ll just have to roll with it. There’s a ruckus from the back room - a splash of some sort. 

The pair of officers get back up. “Sounds like your ride’s here. Follow me.” Geoff says.

Seeing no reason not to, I follow them into the back room. It’s an office, but set up in the far corner is a small plastic pool. Standing waist deep is a well built man in a skintight hooded black bodysuit. Mounted on his back is a tank with a line leading into a breathing apparatus that is hanging from his face. Over his eyes are a pair of large tinted goggles that obscured his defining features.

In other words, he looked like a complete tool.

Seeing me enter, the man utters under his breath to the officer standing beside him “Big guy, isn’t he?” Turning to me, he smiles and says “Name’s Rip. You must be the new case fifty-three these lot called in. Now, my method of travel ain’t pleasant for people without a scuba setup, but lookin’ at that noggin of yours there’s no way we’re fitting one on you. Sorry mate, you’ll just have to grin and bear it.”

I quell the stab of rage I feel at his flippant address. He’s useful to me. I need him alive. I repeat the mantra a few times, but the feeling barely subsides. “Method of travel? What do you mean?” The man clearly either knew something I did not or was a fool. Potentially both. 

His grin was obnoxious. “Take a dip and you’ll see.” He gestures at the pool, obviously wanting me to join him. A fit of coughs disrupt my intentions to bring serious harm upon the man, and I manage to enter the pool without violence. He returns the breathing apparatus to its place over his mouth. Perhaps seeing one of these ‘extraordinary abilities’ first hand will shed some light on their nature?

The man grasps my shoulder and before I manage to part him from the offending limb I am sucked downwards by a terrible force. In an instant my world was consumed by roiling inky black water.

Counter to what he had suggested, the experience was not wholly unpleasant. Being vacuum rated may have had something to do with that, however. I was powerless to even resist the flow, so I simply allowed myself to be pulled along. Whatever these primitives could throw at me, I would be able to deal with - esoteric force users or not.

Still, this was not an ability I had seen before. Was this planet home to some sort of separatist Jedi sect? Perhaps I could turn them to my own ends - if they’ve separated from the Jedi, then they’ve done at least one thing right.

In minutes, the experience was over and I was being pulled to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I'm working on this story in parallel to Calamity Bound - don't worry, I haven't abandoned it! Mostly, I'm writing this to try and curb fatigue and author's block. As with Calamity Bound, I'll keep a record of my progress towards the next chapter and a tentative update date on my profile.


	2. 1.2

As I was pulled to the surface, I saw that I was in a different place than I was before. This man’s ability allows for rapid long-distance transport, then? I can certainly imagine many possible applications for such a technique, but why was the water necessary?

“This is your stop, big guy. Please take all possessions with you when leave the pool and mind the gap.” 

Ignoring the man’s comment lest I cause an... incident, I step from the pool. As I do the water slicking my body flows away and returns to the pool. I’m completely dry by the time I’m out - was this more of the man’s ability at work? Was it general telekinesis or restricted to just over water?

Whatever room we’re currently in seems to be purpose-built for that cape - Rip. Breathing apparatus and tanks hang from hooks on the wall along with bodysuits similar to the one he wore. The floor was tiled and had a drain to carry away any potential spillage from the large pool behind me. With a splash, Rip disappears back underwater and I thank circumstance that I no longer have to deal with the irritating man.

I’m met by a group of human officers, one of whom gives me their welcomes to Brisbane City - not that the name means anything to me. “You need a moment to recover, Sir? Rip’s transport isn’t easy on the lungs.”

I decline the offer, managing to withhold my coughs. They lead me out of the room and we soon arrive at a boardroom. A man in a dress uniform greets me as I enter “Grievous, I believe? I am Commissioner Moroney, in charge of the Police here in Queensland.” He extends a hand to me.

I take his hand with a shake. “That is correct.” He offers me a seat at the board table and then sits opposite me. Once again, the seat groans but manages to hold my weight. Wasting no more time, Moroney gets down to business.

“Now, if I’m to believe, you’ve been informed of the nature of Case fifty-three's such as yourself?”

I cough. “The circumstances behind their finding - deformations” I manage the word without a growl, but judging from the shift in his expression, Moroney must have caught something in my tone. “Amnesia and abilities - yes. Not the reasons behind the phenomena.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “A great unsolved mystery in of time. People popping out of nowhere matching no descriptions of any missing persons and with amnesia doesn’t leave much in the way of avenues for investigation.”

He pauses, consulting a sheet of paper he held in front of him. I saw that like all of the script I had seen so far on this planet, it was written in the High Galactic Alphabet but did not discern anything further from it.

He continues. “There’s a bit of paperwork before we get you fully sorted, but the crux of the issue is that the Australian government is obligated to either assist you in setting up a new life or direct you to another government similarly obligated.”

Multiple governments on a single planet? It’s certainly unusual, but not unheard of. Perhaps I could use this - play them against each other - to elevate one far above the others? That would be an easy way to increase my standing perhaps, but I need to know more about the political situation before I make the call, as loathe as I am to admit it.

I nod for him to continue. “Case fifty-three’s are considered stateless people under international law and thus have a set of rights they are entitled to. Now, I’m unsure how much you know about capes, but overwhelmingly they are either criminal or employed by a governmental organization. Rogues - civilian capes, if you would - tend to end up dead or criminal almost all of the time.”

He’s assuming I’m a cape without proof of a power? I suppose my augmentations must fall under the umbrella of what he classes as a cape ability, then. Still, if these Case fifty-threes have rights, I could use them to get myself on an even footing. What are my long term and short term goals here anyway?

Long term would be to rejoin the civilized galaxy, obviously, but to do that I’d need a spacecraft - not something I know how to by build myself from primitive tools. I know most of the theory, sure, but there’s a big barrier to putting that into practice. So I need an organization of some sort, then - a network of people whose skills I can direct towards my goals at the very least. 

Moroney puts his paper down and looks me directly in the eyes. If I held him in low regards that may have been the death of him, but something about the man’s demeanor suggests experience to me - was he military? “I’ll be straight with you, Grievous. Looking at that gear of yours, I’d say you’re either a tinker class cape or a changer class that can emulate one - that makes you extremely desirable to every parahuman organization. Say the word and you’ll have an interview with whichever one you want before the week is out. Now, the Australian government is obligated to put you in contact with the other organizations, but I hope you’ll at least consider a career in the Australian Police Force.”

I cough, delaying my reply. Eventually, I manage “Certainly, Commissioner. You’ll understand if I consider my other options as well, of course?” A civilian police force - even one that employs high-powered individuals does not seem like the type of organization that would be useful to me. Still, one of the others may suit my needs well.

Moroney nods and hands me a sheaf of pamphlets he had no doubt collected for this very occasion. There were quite a few - one gave an extremely basic overview of the political situation on this planet. I was quite surprised at just how many different nations there were - far more than I could easily play against each other.

Another detailed life as an independent - a Rogue, as Moroney had called it. The statistics may be grim, but I have no doubts I would be able to handle it should I choose - the question was did being a Rogue suit my needs? I suspected not, but it was always an option.

A third gave a detailed overview of the cape classifications Moroney had mentioned earlier. I give it a quick skim and tuck it into my cloak for study at a later date. It would undoubtedly be very useful to brief myself on what sort of abilities these capes could possess in case I ever found myself facing off against one.

Criminality, though not present among the pamphlets, was also an option. Not one I would like to have to stoop to taking - I would not want to tarnish the good name of Grievous with petty things such as thievery and drug running. Regardless, such an endeavour comes with significant drawbacks - namely, having the law hounding me every step of the way. No, forming a criminal organization would run counter to my goals.

That leaves government organizations, then. I suppose turning an existing organization towards your own ends comes with the benefit of having much of the necessary infrastructure already in place, rather than having to construct your own. Represented among the pamphlets were five organizations: The Protectorate, The Guild, The Suits, The King’s Men and The Australian Police Force. A final slip detailed a long list of minor nations that had expressed interest in recruiting Parahumans - which was another word for cape, I suspect.

What did I want out of an organization? A broad authority and a high degree of upward mobility within the ranks. Freedom to pursue independent projects and goals. Power, influence and respect. Beyond that? I am unsure. I turn my attention towards the papers and begin my examination.

The Protectorate, though the most affluent among the list was clearly far too established for me to turn towards my own ends - it was likely already hampered by the chains of bureaucracy and I would be unable to gain any significant amount of influence over the leadership. The King’s Men, despite being much smaller in scope, had a very clear and very narrow remit: there would be no room for my goals in that organization. The Suits are an option - they took initiative across a wide, multinational area, but the clear hierarchical nature would hamper my ability to gain significant influence expediently. The Australian Police were unsuitable - they held authority within a single nation and their narrow remit would not allow for my goals either.

That left the Guild.

It was almost perfect. A near exact match for the qualities I wanted - members were expected to operate independently as something resembling special forces on a global scale. Compared to the Protectorate and Suits there were comparatively few members: that means that I’ll be much closer to the top when I start out. As far as power, influence and respect went, The Guild was by no means at the top of the list but it was not at all lacking in those categories either.

Yes… The Guild would do nicely. If I am to believe the pamphlet, one of their members is an extremely versatile ‘Tinker’ class cape - someone specialized in creating advanced technology according to the guide to the classifications.

Still, if there exists individuals with extreme technological competence on this planet, why are they not capable of space travel? I restrain a curse - mark my words, heads will roll if the reason is base fear of the galaxy or stubborn isolationism!

Regardless, if I’m to ever hope for further upgrades, or even have ease of maintenance and repair of my existing upgrades, I will require the assistance of someone with technological ability on some level. I just hope that this Tinker cape is competent enough to entrust my wellbeing to - not something I will do lightly, but I may have few other options on this blasted rock.

I turn my attention back towards Moroney. “I believe The Guild has what I want most out of an organization.”

He frowns, but was not surprised. “The Guild’s a bit of a special case - there’s usually a few extra requirements for members. But, I’ll get in touch with them - they’ll tell you everything you need to know.” He gets up and leaves the room. I take the time to further examine the pamphlet detailing cape classifications.

While some of them could be attributed to The Force, the majority of example abilities detailed seemed either completely nonsensical or… well, even more nonsensical. Shooting laser beams out of one's hands? Indestructibility? Instant teleportation on a personal level?

Still, I suppose I’ve already seen the sort of thing that could be accomplished with powers - if I’m to believe what I’ve been told, Rip transported me part way across a continent in a matter of minutes.

Perhaps I wasn’t giving these abilities enough credit - some of these seem quite troublesome. Still, nothing is without limits - if I simply hit them hard or fast enough I’m sure they’ll fall before my blades.

Unless, of course, their limits are far above mine. A change of strategy would be required in that case. I’m not particularly worried - these jumped up apes simply do not compare to the Jedi and I had slaughtered them by the dozen, force powers or no.

The Commissioner returns to the room, this time with a device of some sort. “Dragon has agreed to speak with you over a web call.” He opens the device and begins to fiddle with it’s controls. I’m unsure of the particulars of what he means by ‘web call’ but if it’s something resembling a holocall, I suppose I could be satisfied with the expediency of The Guild’s reply. The name was familiar to me, too - Dragon was the tinker their pamphlet had mentioned.

He turns the device around, on the screen was a digital recreation of a human woman’s face. It was clearly manufactured, but I recall from one of the pamphlets that most capes keep their true identity a secret - a practice I cannot help but see the benefits of.

Moroney stands back up. “I’ll give you two some privacy to conclude your business. There’ll be an officer outside, so if you need anything more from me, Grievous, don’t hesitate to ask.” He leaves the room.

Dragon smiles. “You know, when they said they had a ‘Cybertronic Tinker Case fifty-three’ that was found in the outback interested in joining The Guild, I didn’t know what to expect.”

I chuckle mirthlessly, which devolves into a fit of coughs. Being unexpected is good - I’ve caught them on the back foot, and if I’m as desirable as Moroney says I am, they’ll be far more inclined to get me on board rather than lose me to a different organization.

At my coughs, Dragon’s smile twists into a look of concern, but she does not say anything on the topic. “Now, I’m told that The Guild was your first choice? Why was that?”

Internally, I suppress a wan laugh - a job interview. I thought I’d never have to do another after signing my contract with the galactic banking clan. Regardless, I hope I’ve still got the acumen that had landed me that position in the first place. “I believe the broad remit and high autonomy expected of Guild members would allow for the most effective use of my skills - especially compared to the roles of organizations like the Australian Police and The King’s Men as civilian law enforcement.”

Her avatar nods, frown becoming neutral once more. “I see. Typically, Guild members are established Protectorate heroes already - there are exceptions, of course, but that is the most common pathway into our organization. Why should we extend such an exception to you?”

“The Protectorate is not my second choice - if I am declined this, I will instead approach The Suits or consider life as a Rogue. It has been mentioned to me that Case fifty-three's typically have retrograde amnesia?”

Dragon nods once again. “That is correct - barring some early childhood memories they always have near-total memory loss. Why do you ask?”

“I may be an exception to that rule. I retain almost all of my memories barring events that happened between a particularly…” I burst into a fit of coughs. Dragon patiently waits for it to subside before I continue. “...traumatic event and my waking up on this planet. Before I awoke here, I was an accomplished General and feared warrior.”

Her face twists into a look of confusion, then quickly to contemplation. “Yes… that would be exceptionally unusual - unheard of, in fact.” She frowns. “Tell me, do you have a brand resembling a stylised ‘C’ anywhere on your body?”

Despite not seeing the point to the question, I answer anyway. “No - not unless it has appeared recently. I’m not in a position to examine myself at the moment. Why do you ask?” She makes a noise of contemplation, but does not answer the question. Gah! Infuriating. I suppress my urge to destroy the device - that would not be productive to my goals.

She eventually speaks, however “I may have a solution that is satisfactory to you. The Guild requires an amount of experience from its members - an apprenticeship with one of our members would be required before full initiation. I believe that barring complications and pending the verification of your claims, we should accept you.” She allows a slight grin to come over her avatar, as if sharing a private joke. “Now, I’ve dispatched a suit to your location - it will pick you up and bring you to one of my facilities for a full testing of your powers and physical examination.”

An apprenticeship? Blasted human! She obviously did not understand just how capable I am - there is nothing for the apprentice to learn when the apprentice surpasses the master in all aspects! I withhold my outburst, however. This was an opportunity - I will have to simply withstand the frustration and come out of it without having murdered whoever they assign to me.

Still, a close working relation with a senior member of The Guild would no doubt prove useful in furthering my influence over the organization. Yes… this could be salvaged. First: The Guild, then: the Republic - Kenobi will rue the day he thought he could kill me!

...Well, there may be a few more necessary steps than just those two - it’s a plan-in-progress, of course.


	3. 1.3

The suit mentioned by Dragon ended up resembling some sort of cross between a walker and a gunship. It touched down on the roof of the building soon after our conversation finished and I was quickly escorted up and bid farewell by Commissioner Moroney.

The interior of the suit was spacious - it featured a bay where up to ten people could comfortably sit even in full kit. After my entry, Dragon’s avatar appeared on a pop-out screen hanging from the roof. “You’ll need to hold onto something. The ride might be a bit bumpy.”

Not wanting to needlessly damage Dragon’s vehicle, I refrain from anchoring myself to the floor and instead grasp a provided handrail. “This craft is leagues ahead of all that I’ve seen so far - did you design it?” It was an honest compliment - depending on its exact specifications, it may be comparable to the dropships used by the Republic. Impressive for a supposedly primitive planet.

Her avatar nods. “Yeah, it’s one of my prototypes.” With a surprisingly smooth jolt, the craft lifts from the roof of the building. “I’m not convinced the applications of the design are worth the costs of a major production run just yet, so I’m just using the prototype as courier for high-priority packages at the moment.” Her expression curls into a wry smile.

I fail to hold back a cough, and I spend a few moments recovering from the fit. “High priority package? You flatter me.” I chuckle cynically - I seem to remember Dooku referring to me as such in the past. His words had stung, but Dragon’s were clearly said with a different tone.

After my latest fit, her expression had taken on a concerned air once again. “What’s the story behind that cough of yours? I recall you denied it was an illness to the officers that found you, but if it really is one we may need to quarantine the people you came into contact with.”

When she puts it like that, there’s no excuse not to swallow my pride and explain myself. I curse internally at being put into this position. “It’s an injury.” I growl, agitated at the memory “An enemy with telekinetic abilities crushed my lungs. I did not have the chance to submit myself to-” I burst into another fit of coughs, my agitation increasing at the unwanted interruption. “-medical care before my arrival here.”

Dragon makes a noise of contemplation, but does not comment further on the topic. The craft had been steadily accelerating but had levelled out at this point. Despite her claims, the ride was no bumpier than an orbital reentry by a dropship.

“You mentioned you were a General? What sort of experience do you have?” Her tone was genuine as best as I could tell - but there’s no knowing for certain when it comes to digital avatars. Did I want to divulge my experience? What harm could come of it? If anything, it could only help my chances with the Guild.

“Two years acting as a frontline shock trooper and commander in the Galactic Civil War. In the latter half of the war, I was the driving force behind the Confederate battle plans. It was only days before my arrival on this planet that the position of the sole military and political leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems fell to me.” The mouth of Dragon’s avatar hung agape. What? Had news of my exploits actually reached this rock? I’m surprised.

“Galactic Civil War? Confederacy of Independent Systems? You’re either suffering from a delusion or we’ve been talking past each other in regards to what exactly being a Case Fifty-three entails.”

“What?” I was genuinely confused at her comment. “What do you mean to imply?”

Her avatar meets my eyes, and perfectly level, she says “Grievous. Planet Earth has never made contact with any extraterrestrial organization - not recently, and not within recorded history. If you’ve assumed differently then you have been operating under a false assumption.”

Gah! “Pull up a map of the galaxy! Now!” My tone brooked no argument. If Earth had not made contact with the rest of the Galaxy yet, that means it was nowhere near anything remotely important. I needed to see just how far from civilization I was - if I was stranded somewhere on the far side of the galaxy, my hopes for a resurgent Confederacy are effectively quashed.

Dragon complies without hesitation, and her face is replaced with an image of a galaxy. Specifically, not my galaxy. I had by no means memorised the structure of the galaxy, but I knew enough to easily spot that the two were very clearly different.

This day just continues to get worse. Was I really stranded in a different galaxy?

Surely not - that’s preposterous! Why would humanity be inhabiting two different Galaxies - and also be speaking Galactic Common and writing in the High Galactic Alphabet? I look closer, but only begin to spot even more glaring distinctions between the two galaxies. 

A savage roar tears itself from my throat and I slam my fist into the side of the craft with enough force to leave a sizeable dent. I let out a string of unmentionable curses upon this cruel world. Who did I need to painfully disassemble in order to fix this?!

Could this be some sort of Jedi trick? No… as much as I would like to pin this particular misfortune on those reprobates, I simply do not have any reason to suspect their hand in this beyond my own hatred of their organization - besides, they lacked both the compunction and the means to trap me within such an immaculate simulation rather than just killing me. There is little point to denying it - the evidence of my predicament is displayed directly in front of me.

I begin to pace. These circumstances are extremely suspicious. “You are certain this image is accurate?” 

“To a very small degree of error, yes.” Dragon’s face was firmly set into a frown.

I have no reason to disbelieve her, but that does not explain the other inconsistencies. Could it simply be that humanity had spread to this galaxy far in the past? Yes, that would be the only credible explanation.

I collapse into one of the chairs on the side of the ship, my plans and aspirations falling apart before my eyes. It fails to hold my weight, and I fall to the floor with a clang. I’m struck by a sudden urge to tear this ship to pieces with my bare hands - a suicidally stupid idea, to be certain, but an extremely cathartic one nonetheless.

“Grievous? Are you okay?”

I continued to sit. What was the point of it all, then? There was no Republic for me to destroy, and no Jedi lives for me to ruin. Trying to return to my own galaxy was clearly a lost cause - if I could even find it, I would be long dead before the necessary technology was developed. I would never even get to see my dearest Kalee again.

Everything - gone, like ashes in the wind.

“Grievous? Talk to me - what’s happened?”

I cough, barely even feeling rage at the symptom. I answer Dragon’s query in a low tone. “I’ll never see my homeworld again.” As satisfying as it would be to shoot the messenger, Dragon has been nothing but courteous to me so far. She remains extremely useful to me besides.

What did I even want now? All of my long term goals were torn firmly from my grasp, and all of my short term goals were merely in service of achieving said goals. To survive? It seems to me that survival against all odds is the thing I am good at above all else. I suppose there is something to be said for sticking to what you’re good at - survival it is.

That means I need good relations with people in power, at the very least. I sigh, exhausted. This particular revelation had taken more out of me than my twelve hour walk through the outback had. “Apologies for damaging your suit, Dragon. That was… unprofessional of me.”

Her avatar had reappeared on the screen. “I understand completely - you are forgiven. We’re coming out of international airspace now, so get ready for landing.” A wry smile creeps onto her face. “Besides, you just gave me an idea of just what sort of strength you are capable of - I can write the damages off as a business expense.” I chuckle joylessly at her attempt to ease the tension. The gesture was appreciated, but I was not in the mood for jokes currently.

I sat there, unmoving. A few moments pass. Hold on a moment - just what was I doing? Sitting here feeling sorry for myself after throwing a tantrum, that’s what! Gah - pathetic! You are a general and a warrior - so act like it, not like some simpering child! So what if I’ll never see my galaxy again? All the better - I’ll never have to deal with another one of those wretched Jedi again!

I spring to my feet, getting ahold of the handrail once more.

Get over yourself, Grievous! This represents an opportunity - an unexplored galaxy free for the taking with no Republic or Jedi to stand in my way. Hah! I can see it already - an Earthen Confederacy under my direction spreading across the stars, bowing to no-one and compromising on nothing! Yes, this would do nicely… there is potential for greatness within these circumstances, and all I have to do is reach out and grasp it.

The craft lands with a jolt. “We’re here. Welcome to the Vancouver Protectorate Headquarters. I run some of the facilities here, so don’t worry too much about the branding on the building.”

A Guild member being allowed to both run and use Protectorate facilities for Guild purposes? The pamphlets said the organizations worked closely, but I did not expect outright sharing of resources like this. Still, this bodes well for the Guild’s reputation - if The Protectorate are happy to allow cooperation on such a degree, perhaps I will be able to gain influence over them through the Guild? A question for later, I suppose.

The exit ramp of the suit opens, and I’m met by a squad of black-clad enforcers. I cast an eye over their gear: mesh body armor, a tactical vest and helmet on each, no exposed skin, a tank on their back and a sprayer of some kind in their hands - flamethrowers? These were professionals - no doubt equipped to best deal with the threats they were most likely to face.

Did this planet not possess blaster technology? Mesh body armor is most useful when dealing with slugthrowers and since slugthrowers were a mainstay of primitive cultures I suspect that might just be the case. My holdout blaster just got a whole lot more valuable, in that case.

I step down the ramp, adjusting my posture to my full height. I’m approached by one of the enforcers. “Grievous? Dragon has instructed us to escort you to the power testing facilities. Follow me.”

The man leads me through the facility. We were stopped for scans and identification checks at the entrance from the roof landing pad to the building proper. I was issued a pass which clipped onto my cloak. I spotted no less than eight places in the ceiling that likely held a recessed turret - smart, but not sufficient enough. While their measures may be sufficient for more typical assailant, I have doubts it would stop me from penetrating their security should I so desire. Understandable, however - it appears that they are far more concerned by infiltrators, judging by the nature of their defenses.

After an elevator ride we eventually arrive at a large, open room - more resembling an empty warehouse than anything else. Near the entrance is a wide array of gear, the exact purposes of which escape me - no doubt to do with the power testing, however. Currently arranging the gear into something resembling organized chaos was a small army of people dressed in white overcoats - scientists? 

I’m approached by one, an elderly man. He extends his hand to me “You’re Grievous?”

I take his hand and shake it. “That is correct.”

He smiles easily. “Dragon contracted your powertest out to the PRT. I am Doctor Gilliam and I will be helping you today.” The squad of troopers who had accompanied me had spread out to guard positions across the walls of the room. “Now, most Parahumans have an instinctive knowledge of how to use their abilities, in tinker class Parahumans this usually manifests as designs they see in their head - though looking at you, you may already know that.”

I cough. “I’m afraid you may be under the wrong impression of what exactly my abilities are, Doctor.” I pull out the pamphlet I had acquired earlier. “I did not construct my… augmentations. But, judging by what I know of your rating system, I would be more along the lines of a…” I consult the paper for the designation I had identified earlier. “...‘brute’ class Parahuman.”

He frowns. “Truly? That is unfortunate… Well, Dragon had mentioned the likelihood of secondary ratings, so we are not unprepared for this case.” He turns away from me and raises his voice. “Robinson! Harvey! Brute test equipment - now!”

The named scientists scramble to comply - he runs a tight ship, I can respect that. He turns back to me. “First thing we'll be doing is a resistive strength test. You pull the bar and we get to know how hard you can pull. It's tinker made and rated for loads above what we expect from the typical brute, so don't worry about pulling too hard.”

It takes a few minutes before the machine is fully set up - mostly because of a series of hardpoints in the ground that the machine is firmly secured into. “Whenever you're ready, Grievous.” He motions to the pull-bar attached to the front of the machine.

Did he seriously expect this puny machine to be able to measure my strength? I have punched holes in starship hulls! Still, perhaps the tinker responsible has a few tricks up his sleeve…

I grasp the pull-bar and begin to pull. I'll give it credit - it was stubborn, but I got it moving without an excess of effort before long. Attaching the bar to the machine was a glowing tether of some sort - what? An energy tether, perhaps? Just what sort of feats are these tinkers capable of? They've clearly proven themselves above their non-parahumans compatriots, but why then the  scarcity of tinker technology?

Gilliam holds up a hand. “That's enough.” I stop and allow the bar to retract. “How much of your strength would you judge you just used?”

“It was not difficult, if that was what you are asking. You could turn the resistance up a few notches without trouble.”

He frowns. “That will not be necessary. We’ll move on to the next test.”

* * *

I’ll give them credit - these scientists were nothing if not thorough in their assessment of my abilities. I had gone through something not dissimilar when starting my employment with the Intergalactic Banking Clan - though, admittedly that one had involved actual bloodshed against foes of some competence rather than a mock-fight against some primitively simulated hard-light opponents.

The scientists were extremely interested by my collection of lightsabers - they even wanted to take one for analysis. I shut that down without hesitation: these four were likely to be the only I’ll have access to in this galaxy so there was little chance I will willingly part from even one.

In all, I came away with the impression that I had impressed them with my combat ability - the separating arms trick had got some gasps of surprise, even. Once we had finished, Gilliam had taken an hour or so to discuss things with his colleagues before returning to me with a printed report.

“Here’s your initial threat analysis. There’s much potential for a more in-depth study, but Dragon only wanted the basics.” He called that the basics? I’m impressed once again - he was no stranger to rigor in that case. “You’re looking at a tentative rating of Brute seven, Mover three and Thinker one. With those tinkertech swords in your hands, you’ll have a subrating of Striker seven - all the details are in the report.” The ratings, though undoubtedly useful to people accustomed to the system meant very little to me. 

“As per the terms of our contract with Dragon, everyone privy to the feats that have transpired in this room have been bound to full confidentiality - this report will not even be entered into the PRT database, though The Guild may well chose to do say at a later date. Now, I’ve already sent a copy off to Dragon, and you’re wanted up on the roof. I imagine you’ll have the opportunity to read it on the flight to wherever you’re going.”

Confidentiality? An odd stipulation, certainly. Still, I suppose there is much value in keeping the exact capabilities of your assets a secret. The team of enforcers - or Protectorate Response Team troopers, as I had learned they were officially called - lead me back through the security checkpoints to the roof. 

Waiting was the same suit that had dropped me off. I enter, and am greeted by Dragon. “Hello again, Grievous. I must say - you are full of surprises.” Her expression was genial and her tone was light.

I stifle a cough. “Heh - being able to play things close to the chest is a valuable skill in all things, I find.”

“A truth lost on too many, I think.” The suit touches off with a subtle jar. “We’re headed across the country right now, so you’ll have time to have a read of your threat assessment along the way - I’ve already made my analysis and conferred with key personnel. We’ve decided to take you on as an apprentice Hero. Welcome to The Guild, Grievous.”

 


	4. 1.Preliminary Threat Assessment: Grievous

Preliminary Threat Assessment: Grievous

Grievous, hereto referred to as ‘the subject’ appears to be, on an initial inspection a heavily augmented ‘Cybernetics Tinker’. This is not the case - the subject rather appears to be a more typical Case 53 who had reportedly received aforementioned augmentations from a third party. It is clear after even a cursory examination that the subject would be rendered entirely non-functional without access to the augments - the only remaining (or possibly present in the first place) biological components appear to be vital organs and a trivial amount of tissue surrounding the subject’s eyeballs. An extensive examination was not performed as of this time, but what was seen of the organs and tissue shows a very clear deviation from the human standard - it can be assumed that these deviations are the result of the subject’s nature as a Case 53.

The exact nature of the subject’s power is difficult to determine, however the various Tinker technologies the subject has access to grant non-trivial sub-ratings to the subject (see appendices 1 through 18 for images). Given the non-removable nature of the bulk of these technologies, it is agreed that the sub-ratings associated with said technologies should be incorporated into the subject’s overall threat rating. The capabilities of these technologies are detailed below:

           Cybernetic Body:

The most striking feature of the subject is the body - with four arms and two legs, all of which the subject controls with extreme familiarity: there was no observed clumsiness nor ineptitude. Additionally, a preliminary sturdiness test suggests that the subject’s body is extremely sturdy - the armor plates across the subject’s arms were capable of withstanding a single shot from a standard issue PRT trooper rifle without damage (see appendix 19). No further tests on this matter were conducted due to the inherent danger tests of this nature pose to the subject. It can be assumed that all small-arms fire will be rendered entirely non-effective by the subject’s armour plating.

In regards to the physical capabilities of the body, several key tests were performed (See appendices 20 through 45 for exact results). In summary, the subject is capable of physical feats far removed from even the peak of human ability. While the subject’s movement speed is non-trivial, alone it does not warrant a mover rating above two - an automobile will be able to match the subject without issue. What is of more note, however, is the subject’s grip strength on all six of it’s limbs - any one is capable of holding the subject’s complete weight with a significant amount of leeway. The subject’s two feet also possess four pointed claws  The subject showed a great amount of dexterity with these limbs, enough to wield weapons with no notable decrease in competence.

The grip strength on the subject’s lower two appendages are such that the subject is able to anchor itself into concrete (see appendix 46 and 47) without issue. In regards to the strength of the other four limbs, the subject displayed ability far above anything typical containment measures are able to handle - past the exceptional conventional test results, the subject demonstrated to ability to bend 2.5 cm diameter hardened steel rods ‘without trouble’. It is the assessment of our experts that even a single punch from the subject delivered to even a fully armoured non-parahuman individual has the potential to be deadly.

           Tinkertech Energy Swords:

Equipped with four Tinkertech energy swords (referred to by the subject as ‘lightsabers’) the subject has significantly increased combat potential. These weapons have blades of a material superficially resembling plasma and hilts of a material superficially resembling steel. The blades possess great destructive potential and, according to the subject, are able to cut through ‘practically anything’. While the exact mechanics of the weapons is unknowable, the subject demonstrated the ability to cut hardened steel and Tinker-made combat ceramics with little trouble.

It should be noted that the weapons resembles those featured in the 1977 film ‘Star Wars’ to a remarkable degree, barring minor cosmetic differences - it is the opinion of the author that the Tinker responsible drew inspiration for the weapons from the film. The blades of the weapons have remarkable utility - the subject demonstrated the ability to block bullets, bypass locks, nonlethally disable enemies, create entryways through concrete walls and destroy weaponry. It should be noted that this list of feats is likely by no means exhaustive - a creative wielder will undoubtedly conceive of many more potential applications.

It should be noted that the subject displays an extremely high degree of competence when wielding the weapons - to the point that the subject demonstrated the ability to take down four simulated squads of PRT troopers non-lethally without sustaining even a single a hit (hardlight combat simulator scenario c3472, a full scorecard of the subject’s feats within the simulator can be found in appendix 48).

To be certain: the weapons are deadly - an improperly aimed strike will cause loss of limbs or life. According to the subject, wounds caused by the weapons are fully cauterized, but testing to these ends has not been performed as of yet. On the other hand, the subject has already demonstrated an immense degree of skill and control using the weapons - it is the judgement of the author that there is little risk of accidental fatalities when these weapons are in the hands of the subject.

           Potential other abilities:

In addition to the high competence shown within combat scenarios, the subject demonstrated a high level of strategic and tactical acumen. The demonstrated levels were not above that achievable by a baseline human (a full scorecard can be found in appendix 49), but considering the nature of the subject, it would be unwise to discount the possibility of a power being responsible.

As mentioned before, the subject demonstrated the ability to block bullets with Tinkertech energy swords. This suggests a heightened reaction speed - indeed, follow-up tests (appendix 50) show a reaction time greater than the human standard. It is possible that this is the result of a power, but it seems most likely that this is a facet of an unidentified augmentation.

It is the opinion of the author that the subject’s actual power is rather simple and comparatively minor: the subject is capable of learning how to use Tinker-made technology to a high degree of competence. There is little other explanation for the extreme aptitude with which the subject operates the pieces of Tinker technology within its possession. This alone is minor - barely worth a Thinker rating of one - and is even replicable to a large extent by baseline humans, however, the Tinker technologies already in the possession of the subject contribute almost entirely to the subject’s threat rating.

           Summary:

It is the opinion of the author that the subject should be deemed as a:

           Brute 7

High durability and strength forbid typical measures and heighten the threat posed by the subject to high levels.

           Mover 3

High running speed and immense flexibility of terrain traversal options resulting from the strength and dexterity of the subject’s six limbs ensure that standard strategies are void and additional preparations must be made.

           Thinker 1

While the subject’s Thinker ability has immense potential - as already demonstrated - it does not warrant any non-standard measures in the field. The subject’s decreased reaction times, however, do warrant at least some consideration, but the effect is comparatively minor and can be discounted as largely irrelevant in most cases.

 

Subrating - Tinkertech ‘Lightsaber’:

           Striker 7

Extremely versatile, highly dangerous weaponry paired with the extreme competence of their wielder ensures that the threat posed by the subject’s weaponry is high.


	5. 1.4

So my abilities had proven sufficient to warrant acceptance into the Guild? Good. It would have been frustrating to have to work around such a major setback. Before I open the report, I ask Dragon “Where-” I unsuccessfully attempt to stifle a cough “-are we going?”.

“The Guild has access to facilities in Toronto that we’ll be needing to visit for those formalities I mentioned. You’ll be based from that city for the foreseeable future, too - the person taking on your apprenticeship is based there.”

I acknowledge her answer and begin to read. Honestly, the report was rather mundane - though their testing of the raw statistics of my physical ability had been thorough, the scope of the tests performed did not allow me to fully demonstrate to The Guild just how powerful an asset I was. I suppose in that case there’s still room to further impress the Guild, then.

There were two passages that jumped out at me, however. The first was the author’s comment that he suspected my Lightsabers were based off of a film - obviously a mistake on his part, but I can perhaps see why he would make such an assumption. I suppose that with a description as generic as ‘energy sword’ there was bound to be at least one instance where fiction had coincided with reality in such a way.

The second was when the author speculated on what he thought my ability was - something to the effect of highly competent operation of Tinker technology. Incorrect as it may be, this serves my ends well - I now have a valid excuse to acquire samples of Tinker tech. Perhaps I will be able to identify just what makes it so special? What I have seen so far is nothing that a motivated corporation from my galaxy would not have been able to develop for itself with reasonable amounts of capital, but what I’ve inferred from what I’ve read and heard suggests something greater.

I'm no scientist, so I'm likely overestimating my own capabilities in that regard. Primitive scientists are still scientists, after all - and that means they’ve a sort of mindset that I lack. But, in any case, having access to high powered tech where most of my opponents likely do not could only be a good thing.

I gave a quick scan of the report’s appendices - nothing that I hadn’t known already, so I folded the report and tucked it into my cloak. “So, what are these formalities?”

Dragon's face reappears “Well, for starters we want to take a look at your biology - take a sample or two for analysis by our lab techs, and a checkup by one of our specialists to see how your lungs are going. I trust that will not be an issue?”

I was no stranger to such procedures at this point. While I was a little leery of entrusting myself to the care of Dragon's people, there was some amount of trust was being extended to me in return - I figure there was little actual danger in it for me. “No, that would be fine.”

Seeing my short response as a prompt to continue, “Well, after that we will have to negotiate the exact terms of your contract with The Guild - just quietly, I suspect the paper-pushers are going to try to lowball you, so I if I were you I wouldn’t accept the first offer I get.”

I was no stranger to such treatment, but I took the gesture for what it was - Dragon doing me a favour by trying to ensure I did not get shortchanged for my work. I give her my thanks and she continues. 

“Beyond that, there's some paperwork I can file on your behalf to do with your becoming a Canadian national and getting the benefits you're entitled to for being classed as a Case Fifty-three - you can do it yourself if you'd like, but I’ll be able to expedite the process considerably.”

“Classed as a Case Fifty-three? I suspect you’re being particular with your wording there - what do you mean?”

She smiles “So I am. Well, as far as the law is concerned, you already match the definition for a Case Fifty-three perfectly. Personally, I suspect there to be additional factors at play - if not a different phenomenon entirely. It’s not especially pressing, but your medical examination should hopefully reveal more evidence at to what the truth of the matter is. Don’t worry - nothing that the exam could uncover barring some extremely specific circumstances would void your legal status as a Case Fifty-three.”

I burst into a fit of coughs. When I recover, I manage to say “What would those circumstances be? And what are Case Fifty-threes entitled to anyway?”

“Well, if the fact that you are not actually a person becomes evident, for one - if we found you were a Parahuman projection, for example. Though, even then we would likely still extend an invitation to the Guild to you - after you explain yourself, of course. As far as what you get, the Canadian government has an open offer for citizenship to non-Villainous, stateless Case Fifty-threes. Additionally, there’s a small monetary incentive available to help you get settled.”

That’s… rather generous, actually. “Why would a country extend such an offer?”

“Put simply, there’s far more Villainous Parahumans than Heroic ones - the government has an innate incentive to try to attract as many Heroic Parahumans to live within their borders in an attempt to mitigate the overall damage done by Villains. This is a simple and relatively cheap way of them doing so.”

“I see…” If that was the case, then the situation between criminal and lawful Parahumans was skewed further on the side of the criminals than I had originally suspected. While this information does not change my strategy in the short-term, dealing with the criminal Parahuman problem is something that must be done before my long-term goals are viable. There’s no point in a Confederacy if high-powered individuals are allowed to run rampant over your laws, after all.

Minutes pass in silence. Eventually, we land in Toronto at the top of a comparatively tall building - a crude imitation of a skyscraper. Below us, the city stretched outwards, yet the ground was still visible - this was no layered city. It was all rather underwhelming, really.

I exit the suit and am met by another squad of the Parahuman Response Team troopers. Did they also serve as security for The Guild? That’s… interesting - I’m not too sure what to think of that. One approaches me and welcomes me to the Toronto Protectorate Headquarters.

* * *

I was escorted to a medical theatre. The specialist was left thoroughly confused when he saw what remained of my organic body, but I managed to reign in my frustration at his ineptitude enough for him to survive unharmed.

By the end of it, they had scans of my organ sac, samples of my blood, my genetic material and the nutrient paste that was fed into my system. The problems with my lungs were immediately obvious - the inner duranium alloy sheath that covered them had been crumpled by the Jedi’s telekinetic attack. It was doing me no favours - some relief was gained by the removal of the sheath, but the irritation remained.

The removal of the sheath came with its own problems - until I found a suitable replacement, there remained small angles through which a direct attack at the upper end of my organ sac could be launched - bypassing my outer armour plates entirely. I trusted my own ability enough to be confident this chink in my armour would not be the end of me, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want a replacement sheath as soon as possible.

The specialist sent his report off to Dragon, and she informed me that no pressing problems had been found. After the procedure, I am escorted to a conference room. Awaiting me is a lone woman. She’s dressed strangely - a worn brown-leather jacket, blue pants made from some rugged-looking material and a simple cloth shirt. Across her eyes and nose, concealing some of her features is a small black mask. Her full head of long white hair was eye-catching - was that a normal colour for humans? I can’t recall. I extend to my full height - this was clearly no civilian: I could tell from her bearing that she was definitely military.

She smiles tightly, and extends a hand. “Hello, Grievous. My name is Narwhal. Should you be admitted, I’ll be taking on your mentorship for the guild.” 

Narwhal - the Guild leader - was assigned as my mentor? I’m unsure what to think of that. I recall from the brochure that her abilities involved materializing force-fields - deadly ones, at that. I grasp her hand with a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

As far as first impressions go, she’s made a good one on me - after the casualness displayed by Dragon, I had expected the rest of the organization to follow a similar tone. She moves around to the opposite side of the table and we each take a seat. The ones in this conference room seem to be made of sterner stuff, and they had not so much as strained under my weight.

“First and foremost, what do you want to get out of the Guild? Our members have a rather wide degree of motivations, but they all end up contributing to the world in a positive manner.”

What did I want? Nothing that would likely pass her muster - I’ll have to conceive of an alternate explanation. A beat passes. “It’s rather simple, really: I have a set of abilities and would like to exchange the use of those abilities for payment. I have no attachments to this world yet - there is opportunity for a secondary motivation to emerge at a later date.” I felt my excuse was valid - it was essentially true, after all. What I did not want to emerge was my aspirations for something greater. It has become extremely clear to me over the years that those in positions of influence feared change: I could not allow such timid concerns to stand in my way.

She nods, seeming to accept the explanation. “If that were the only reason, why not go criminal? The rewards far outstrip the benefits present on the heroic side.”

Ah - this was a test, then: they were getting a measure of my moral fibre. Well, I see no reason to lie. “I would be shooting myself in the foot - so to speak - there may be short-term benefits, but crime has increasingly stringent long-term drawbacks. Staying on the just side of the law affords me options not available to criminals.” 

I am unsure of how things work in this galaxy, but that had been my assessment of the situation back in my galaxy - those deemed criminal within the grasp of the Republic were quashed without chance of recourse. Of course, that approach had flown out the window when I had been appointed leader of the droid armies - becoming an agent of a rival government put things into a different perspective. Still, I had no such power here - yet. I shake the memories from my head - it had been long since I thought deeply of my homeworld, I did not want to begin reminiscing now.

Narwhal was visibly unsatisfied with my answer, but did not press me for further details. “You are aware that the Guild holds itself to high standards of conduct?” I nod - any organization worth its salt does. “Collateral damage and non-sanctioned casualties are a serious matter for us. You’ve demonstrated abilities with a moderate threat-rating - it’s doubly important in cases such as ours: if the Guild demonstrates that it’s high-powered members are unable to limit the damage caused by their abilities, legislators start getting involved.” She leans in, expression serious. “Let me be clear, Grievous: Parahuman organizations across the globe play a balancing game - we cannot afford to show irresponsibility with how we use our powers. Our organization would survive it - there's little doubt about that - but our ability to function would be effectively hamstrung.”

I am no stranger to operating within constraints. Many missions assigned to me during my work with the Banking Clan featured similar stipulations - albeit for less altruistic reasons. Still, I would need to watch myself from here forward: accidentally letting go of my temper would prove quite detrimental to my goals.

I nod. “I understand - no unsanctioned collateral damage or casualties. You understand, of course, that such things are bound to happen anyway, but I am quite capable of restraint when it is necessary.”

Her expression is neutral. “Yes, there is no doubt of that - I've seen your scores in the simulator. Very impressive.” She shuffled the sheaf of papers she had brought with her. “Now, before we talk further, there’s things you need to know about how the Guild as an organization operates. If you are unable to work within these bounds, there is not a place for you within the Guild.”

* * *

The Guild was not what I initially thought it to be. Rather, they acted primarily as international special forces. Certain members - specifically Dragon and Narwhal - were deployed to deal with particularly dangerous capes across the globe. The Guild employed a plethora of other Parahumans in support roles - but only two were considered frontliners. If I joined, I would be joining as the third frontliner.

Overall, however, I still believed the Guild suited my purposes. While the restrictions on conduct were more stringent than I had expected, it was nothing that I couldn’t deal with. Narwhal, satisfied with the interview, left the room. Dragon appeared on the screen of a communications device she had left behind.

“We’ve completed the analysis of the samples taken from you. The results, combined with your behaviour have inclined me to believe your story. The genetic material was clearly non-human: something deviant from what we’ve seen of other Case Fifty-threes. Everyone - even the most drastic cases - showed at least a passing connection with humanity. Your genetic material is something entirely separate.”

So they’ve confirmed it, then - good. I nod. “What does that mean, then?”

“Well, we’ll be asking you for a full account of your memories at some point, but otherwise, not much. As far as the law is concerned, you’re still considered a Case Fifty-three despite the clear deviations from the norm. For PR reasons, we’ll be asking you to present yourself to the public as a Case Fifty-three. That shouldn’t be a large problem - the Guild is much less concerned with image than the Protectorate: if you want, you can remain a mostly private citizen.”

Internally, I frown. “You’ll understand that I will not be able to provide a comprehensive account of all things in my past. But otherwise, the broad strokes should be fine.” Playing a human for the public wasn’t ideal, but I could deal with it I suppose. If I’m catching what Dragon’s implying, however, communicating with the general public isn’t necessary for my position - in that case, it won’t really come up.

“That should be satisfactory. Now, the legal team is on their way up to negotiate your contract. Good luck.” Dragon’s avatar disappears and I’m left by myself. After a few minutes, the civilians entered the conference room and negotiations began.

Compared to my contract with The Banking Clan, I felt like I was practically stealing from them - days off, holidays, a generous wage, paid sick leave - all things absent from my previous contract. Still, I did not allow them an easy time of things, and I felt I came out well from the deal.

Afterward, Dragon contacted me through one of the civilians’ communicators. She informed me that a civil servant was on his way up to finalize my application for Canadian citizenship - filed on my behalf by Dragon. The meeting was over quickly and he informed me that all things going well, the paperwork would be processed before the day was out - more of Dragon’s work, apparently. Next on the list is a tour of the facilities and a host of safety inductions.

Before we got going I asked Dragon about how she got the paperwork done so quickly. She explained that the nature of her work for The Guild allowed her an amount of privilege within the bureaucracy - anything submitted by her was earmarked for expedited processing. A useful thing to have, undoubtedly - I filed the information away in the back of my mind for consideration in future plans.

Abruptly, I caught myself nodding off in my seat. A wave of fatigue hits me - I curse internally: this had been reckless of me. I should have taken a few minutes rest on this trip over. I don’t know how long I’ve been up and going at this point, but the last time I had slept was an hour or two on the way to Utapau. While my modifications allow for a degree of lenience in my sleep habits, I do still need sleep on a semi-regular basis - I was definitely pushing my limits here.  

“Dragon, does the Guild have sleeping arrangements I could borrow? I’m going to need a bit before I keep going.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, we had been thinking that you didn’t need sleep. If you had said so we would have pushed this back until you’d had a full night’s rest. I’ll route a squad up to show you to a guest room - we can take care of everything else in the morning.”

I suppose it was for the best, then. If they’d assumed that I didn’t need to sleep, that would have bumped my value as an employee up - no, this was the right move on my part. I nod, silently acknowledging Dragon. The squad arrives and escorts me to my room.


	6. 1.5

After my rest, I was reenergized and ready to go. I leave the too-soft bed then don my cloak once more. I press the button on a device sat on the table beside my bed that Dragon had said would put me into contact with someone.

Dragon’s voice fills the room, presumably coming from a hidden speaker system. “Is there a problem, Grievous? It has only been two hours.”

I shake my head. “No - I’m ready to pick up where we left off.” 

“Oh? Was that an adequate amount of rest for you?” Her voice was curious, but not prying.

Seeing no reason to withhold the information, I answer “That was more than enough - if anything I overslept slightly. You’ll have to forgive me - I’ve had a busy week.”

She chuckled, “I don’t think anyone would begrudge you for that. Well, I’ll route a squad up to you, and they can give you a full tour of the facilities, after that, you’ve got safety inductions. It’s too late to finish up your citizenship paperwork today, so we’ll leave that for the morning. Once that’s gone through, we’ll be able to sort out your living arrangements.”

I thank Dragon for her assistance, and there is a knock on my door soon afterward. Outside, there is a squad of the black-clad enforcers led by a human male in a similar uniform except lacking the helmet. He looks up at me. “Grievous? I’m Lieutenant Bewalski. Dragon tells me that you’re ready for a tour of the facilities?”

I nod. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.” The man’s demeanour is rigid, and there’s a hardness in his spine that commands a degree of respect - he’s military, or close enough to it that it the distinction wouldn’t matter. 

The squad forms up around us, and I follow Bewalski down the hall. “So, I’m curious - I’ve seen PRT troopers both at this building and the Vancouver Protectorate headquarters. What sort of working relationship does the PRT have with The Guild and the Protectorate?”

Bewalski frowns, considering the question. “Yes, I suppose that to someone unfamiliar with how things work it would seem rather strange.” He stops, considering his words. “Well, the PRT, Protectorate and Guild are three organizations with different, but ultimately closely related goals.”

We come to a set of elevators, and he presses a button to call a car. “Similarly, the funding for the three organizations are closely tied - the actions of one reflects on the actions of the others. I’ll be sure to pass a note up the chain for you to get a briefing with all of the relevant specifics-” 

The car arrives, and we step inside. “-but the long and the short of it is that sharing resources allows all three organizations to better accomplish our respective goals - so the PRT offers non-parahuman support staff, the Protectorate offers access to a diverse pool of Capes, and the Guild mostly offers more specialized parahuman support: cybersecurity, surveillance, administration, crisis management and so on.”

I nod. “It seems to me that the three operate more as different departments within the same command structure, rather than competing organizations.”

“Yeah - that’s a good way to look at things. There’s other organizations that we work with, too - Watchdog, for example, provides Thinker support and works to prevent damage to the economy caused by Parahumans.” The elevator arrives, and we step out into another hallway.

“This is the ground floor, down that way is the civilian entrance, and in that direction is the motor pool…”

* * *

The tour was over in about an hour. The facilities of the building - which I learnt was the Toronto Guild Headquarters - were comprehensive, if a little more primitive than I was used to. There were training rooms, offices, a cafeteria, labs, apartments, a tinkertech supercomputer, a surgery theatre - almost anything I would ever need and thensome. A lot of the more specialized rooms - some of the labs and the theatre, for example - were left furnished but went unused almost all of the time. Apparently, the idea was to have a single state-of-the-art facility that they could house a bunch of different specialists in.

I was the third specialist. The other two were non-combat parahumans: Composite, an independent Tinker who had agreed to work directly with Dragon for a few months and Sagacity, a Thinker who was indefinitely on loan to the Guild from Watchdog. I had expected Narwhal and Dragon, but according to Bewalski, Narwhal works out of the Toronto Protectorate Building, and Dragon never leaves her secure compound somewhere up north.

After the tour was a litany of inductions. It was fairly standard - I’d gone through a similar ordeal after my employment with the Banking Clan. I learnt a fair bit more about the particulars of how the Guild works, along with all the procedures and safety measures I needed to know for working with The Guild. Of particular interest to me were the so called ‘Master-Stranger protocols’.

After the inductions were finished, I had a few hours to myself before a civil servant arrived to finish up my applications to the Canadian Government. So, I retired to the guest room and took to reading up on the protocols.

The book’s title was rather dry - ‘Master/Stranger Protocols: 12th Edition’ - but the contents were anything but: it was a one-thousand page masterpiece of operational security measures and anti-infiltration tactics. I’d have loved to have had a system like this back in the Confederacy to deal with the sort of tricks the Jedi could pull. 

It was an absolute pleasure to read - whoever wrote them was beyond thorough: no avenue was left unguarded. I’d made it about two-thirds of the way through the book before a knock on my door signalled that it was time to go.

My business with the Civil servant was over quickly - all of the work had been done for me in advance by Dragon. I only needed to sign my name and it was done. An enforcer brought in a communicator with Dragon on the line once he was finished.

She smiled. “Congratulations, Grievous. You are now a Canadian citizen. Now, did you want to live on-site, or would you rather your own civilian accommodation? The latter will be more difficult, given your nature as an apparent Case Fifty-three, but it’s an option.”

I considered it for a moment. From what I’ve gathered, Capes have an amount of celebrity regardless of their notability - if I wanted to go civilian, I’d be in for a lot of difficulty that would simply not be a concern were I to live on-site. Certainly, there are downsides to living in a corporate apartment, but it would be nothing that I’m not used to. “I’ll live on-site, thank you. What’s next on the agenda?”

“We’ll be showing you to your apartment, then I will introduce you to our computer systems. Once we’ve done that, you’ve got the rest of the day to yourself.”

* * *

My apartment was towards the top of the tower, and was downright spacious compared to what I was used to - it had a bedroom, full kitchen, living room and office. Compared to the tiny room I had while living aboard a starship, it was practically a mansion.

Dragon’s introduction to the computer systems was very helpful, and I was situated within the hour. She let me know that I could contact her at any time through an application on my computer or the handheld communicator that I had been issued. The communicator was a sleek looking thing, but was positively bulky in comparison to the holographic interfaces I was used to. Dragon told me that the device’s touchscreen had to be specially modified to work with my fingers - I was impressed at how quickly she had managed that.

Once all was said and done, she left me to my devices with instructions to check my calendar for information about tomorrow’s schedule. I quickly did so and found that the day had been almost entirely filled by a meeting with Narwhal.

Having little else to do, I settled in to finish reading the Master-Stranger Protocols - it was riveting stuff, and, if what I’ve gathered about parahuman abilities is true, absolutely vital information.

By about midday, I finished up a first reading and done a second reading of the most pertinent sections when an idea struck me: Dragon obviously has rapid turn-around fabrication facilities, and I’m down an armour plate thanks to that Jedi scum - I should requisition a replacement. Retrieving the communicator from a pocket in my cloak, I sent off a quick message to Dragon. I got a reply saying that it was already being handled and would be ready in a day or two soon afterward.

Satisfied, I began reading through the rest of the information I had been given throughout the day - it would not do to be uninformed: particularly in regards to potential threats to my aspirations. Once I was finished, I contacted Dragon, requesting access to the Guild profiles of villainous parahumans. She said that I had already been given low-level clearance and that I could access everything through my terminal.

The profiles were enlightening - truly, there was a vast and varied array of threats on this world. Unfortunately, far too many of them had abilities that would be difficult for me to deal with by myself - telekinetics, invulnerable brutes, shield projectors, intangible breakers, high-speed movers, fliers, masters and strangers - the list goes on. I’ll need a team I can trust if I’m to be hunting them down - perhaps I could poach a squad or two of those enforcers the PRT seems to leave everywhere?

Soon enough, it was time to meet with Narwhal. My calendar said which room we were in, and I was on my way. Narwhal was already there by the time I arrived, she waved me in and I sat opposite her in the conference room. “Good morning, Grievous. Before we get down to business, was there anything you wanted to bring up? We’ve got a lot ahead of us today, but Dragon tells me you’ve been hitting the books pretty hard.”

“I have?” I suppose the amount of information that I’ve digested is rather large, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. “Well, there is one thing - I’m going to be needing a supply of that nutrition paste that your doctor took a sample of. My body has been modified to run smoothest on that, so I’d rather not introduce complications by eating a local diet.”

She nods. “Understandable. So long as it isn’t tinkertech and is just a standard nutrient mixture, it should be no trouble. I’ll have Dragon subcontract it out to someone. Now, getting down to business, I need you to tell me about your past. Naturally, unless there’s a pressing need otherwise, only myself and Dragon will be privy to this information.”

I restrain a growl. It is a prickly subject for me, but it’s only natural that The Guild would be interested. While I haven’t exactly done anything that I’m ashamed of, there were things that I’m not proud of. Still, I suppose that a tell-all story would only serve to reinforce my experience in her mind - it will likely same myself the trouble of being considered a novice in the future. 

Coming to a decision, I answer. “What, in particular, would you like to know?”

“Why don’t we just start with a summary? Give me what you’d put in your autobiography.” Her expression is neutral. I don’t see any sort of ill-intent, so I suppose she is only interested to get a measure of my character.

“I saw my first combat on my homeworld, Kalee. I was initially trained in the art of the slugthrower, and I spent much of the war as a marksman.” 

Narwhal cuts in. “The Galactic Civil War you were talking about?”

I shake my head. “No, this is much earlier - years before the start of it all. I hadn’t been augmented yet, either. I’m talking about the Huk War. It was a generations-old fight for my people’s freedom: my homeworld was under attack by insect slime” I cannot help but to growl the curse. Even years later, this was a sore subject. “Who sought my people as slaves. The Huk.” 

I sneer “They had a serious technological advantage over my people, so we were unable to reach a peaceful resolution. The Huk were an avarice race - to say that they did not take no for an answer would be putting it lightly.” Narwhal’s eyes widened, but she does not say anything. I continue. “In my culture, those who distinguish themselves in battle are immortalised as demigods. It is the highest honor that a Kalee can receive, but only a scarce few in each generation are deemed worthy.” Despite myself, my voice takes on a nostalgic tone. It had been some time since I had remniced on the old days. 

Certainly, it was a bloody fight for freedom, but things were… simpler in those days. “My actions during that stage of the war meant that I was one of the two from my generation who ascended. The other was my partner.”

I swallow. It had also been some time since I had thought of Ronderu. “When she fell in battle, I earnt the name I go by to this day - Grievous. My reputation only grew from that point - I led a legion of handpicked elite and together we beat back the Huk. Insect by insect, we slaughtered the invaders to a man and pushed them from Kalee. By the time we were finished, Kalee was finally rid of their filth.”

Narwhal’s face was ashen, but she remained silent still. “The threat was not over - the Huk were battered but unbroken. So, the war took to space and we began pushing them back to their homeworld. I led the Kalee in a glorious war of vengeance for the millions of people taken from us by the Huk slime. We fought back, tooth and nail, razing their colony worlds in one pyre of turbolaser-fuelled justice after another.”

Narwhal cuts in. “Turbolaser?” She asked. Her face did not betray her thoughts.

“Starship grade laser cannons. A particularly strong one could melt an ice moon without much trouble.” Once more, her eyes widen, but I pay it no mind. It was no surprise that primitives would be amazed by such power, but learning of the more deadly technologies in the galaxy will likely put things into perspective for her. “Our victory was imminent, but the cowardly Huk could not stomach their defeat. They called the Jedi” I spat the name like the curse it was “for help. They spun tales about how the Kalee were the aggressors in the war - how they were attacked unprovoked and had injustices inflicted upon them by the villainous Kalee.”

“The Jedi?” She prompted, sounding incredulous. “Are you joking?”

Joking!? A bolt of undiluted rage spears through my gut. She dares!? I should cut her down where she stands for such insolence! A growl escapes my wavering control. No! Get ahold of yourself! I cannot allow myself to jeopardize this opportunity out of petty anger!

Managing to reign myself in, I give her a flat look. “I do not joke. This is not a laughing matter.”

Narwhal, seeing my reaction, rights herself. “I apologise - I have misunderstood. Please, continue.”

I stand and begin pacing, unable to sit still. “The Jedi are lapdogs of the corrupt Galactic Republic. The Republic deemed the Kalee to be in the wrong, and so the Jedi enforced peace, and the Republic imposed an embargo and sanctions.” My mechanical hands clench - a pale imitation - the unyielding durainium unable to deliver the satisfaction that would accompany such an action taken with biological hands.

My voice is level. I was laying one of my defeats bare for Narwhal to see here. I could only hope that such a gamble would afford me an amount of leeway. “We were driven back to the homeworld, and the Huk were granted restitution. We could not fight the Republic, and so we were forced to accept all that was demanded of us.” Narwhal frowns, and looks to be about to say something, but cuts herself off. She motions for me to continue. “Kalee was driven into poverty by the sanctions, and starvation by the embargo. Our population had grown used to imports, and could not sustain itself with the resources on the homeworld alone.”

I stop pacing and lean over my chair, looking Narwhal dead in the eyes. “Hundreds of thousands died. We lacked the capitol to import food from outside the Republic, nor to kickstart our economy into something that could sustain us. I began looking into what measures I could take to save my people - becoming a slave species to a race of scum other than the Huk was among the most attractive options.” I let out a derisive snort. “Not that I, or my people, would ever accept such a solution.”

I sit back down. “That was when I was contacted by The InterGalactic Banking Clan. They offered me an alternative solution: work for them as an enforcer and debt collector for the rest of my life, and they will take on the debt of my planet.”

Narwhal nodded, a pensive expression on her face. “You accepted the deal, I take?”

“Yes. I am not especially proud of the work, but I did it for my people, and so I would do it again every time.” I paused, leaning forward for effect. “The life of an InterGalactic Banking Clan legbreaker is… colourful. I learnt more skills during my time with them than throughout the entirety of the war with the Huk. One mission I was infiltrating a secret facility of a Galactic Mega-corporation that defaulted on a debt to retrieve collateral in the form of trade secrets, and on the next I was assassinating the planetary Governor of some backwater that failed to honour a contract. For most of my assignments, I led a group of Battledroids that were produced by the clan’s business partners.”

I returned my hands to the arms of my chair. “The work was good for a time - a distraction, but sadly, a necessary one.” My grip tightened, the wood of the chair creaking under the strain. “Things changed, however, when I got word that those soulless insects were desecrating sacred Kalee burial sites at the places of our victory!” I punctuated my statement by slamming my clenched fist into the table.

Narwhal had an understanding look on her face - good, she understood the significance of such an insult. “We, as the Kalee people, could not let an insult like that against our honoured dead go unpunished - no, from that point forward the fate of the Huk was sealed. One way or another, the Kalee would see the Huk scoured from the face of the galaxy.”

Narwhal’s eyes widened, her mouth agape. “Genocide!? Are you serious?”

I nodded. “Yes, that would be the correct term for it.” I quieten, considering my next words. “I suppose that if there was one thing I am grateful for, it is that I saw my duty through before I was transported here. It would have been a great dishonour to leave such business unfinished.”


	7. 1.Interlude:Narwhal

To say that The General was a headache was an understatement. Several counts of genocide. Countless civilians and prisoners of war killed. Torture. Killing children. Pillaging. Chemical Warfare. Wanton destruction of civilian property.

I had asked him how many planets he had made barren of intelligent life. He shrugged, then explained that he had lost count.

Any sane jury would deem him the worst war criminal that the world has seen.

And yet, the concept of a war crime was entirely alien to him - as alien as he was to us, undoubtedly. 

Needless to say, his testament has been sealed under the highest classification we’ve got. No digital copies. Just a single analogue recording and transcript held in a vault deep underground.

As far as the letter of the law is concerned, he’s done no wrong - whoever he did those things to, for all intents and purposes does not exist - he’s got as close to a clean slate as anybody will ever get.

That doesn’t change the fact that it would be a PR disaster of the highest order if this ever gets out. I’m wary of even employing him, but literally everything else points towards him being a perfect Cape for The Guild.

Excellent leadership, tactical and strategic scores. A versatile and useful set of abilities. Knowledge and possession of technology far more advanced than our own. Shown to be very cooperative with The Guild. Thinker analysis points towards an extremely honest personality, if with a vengeance and anger problem.

‘A quintessential example of a person raised in a warrior culture’ was a particularly poignant reading by one of Watchdog’s thinkers.

Worst of all, his life story didn’t even make him evil - if anything, it was a tragedy: a man pushed further and further by the cruelties of happenstance. He was a sympathetic figure, even - more than anyone else, he has lost almost everything: his body, his partner, his freedom, his friends, his comrades. The only things he had left by the end of it all was his planet and his hobby.

If you can call killing Jedi a hobby. His rage at the Jedi and the Republic was understandable - valid, even. But, then you learn of the extremes he’s taken. 

That was another thing - Jedi and lightsabers. Analysts tell me that it’s all either a cosmic coincidence, or some information from his home dimension somehow leaked into some random director’s brain. Either way, it doesn’t matter - the rest of the movies in the series are directly contradicted by Grievous’ story. I’d directly asked him, just to be sure, but he’s certain that there wasn’t any parahumans in his dimension, unlike in the films.

To put it mildly, the entire situation was a gigantic fucking mess.

But, the man is willing to be a hero: we owe it to him to at least give him a chance at it. If only to prevent him from slipping to the other side - God only knows what we’d do if the Slaughterhouse Nine got ahold of him. Jack Slash would have a field day, undoubtedly.

A sigh escapes me. That decides it, then. We’ll work with him.

I pull up my plans for his apprenticeship - all entirely invalid now. I’ll need to rework them. Grievous has already shown that he has a great deal of restraint when mission parametres call for it, but that was against simulated opponents. I’ll need to find out how that will fare against real ones in a situation where him going all out can’t hurt us.

Fulfilling a kill order, then.

But that’s for later. 

Grievous himself said that he’s best suited to leading squads of troopers, and frankly, I agree with him. I pull up my email client and begin to compose a message. He’ll need his own squads - we can’t have troopers assigned to guarding a building running off halfway across the world on a mission.

I send off the message. Alright - what’s next?

His augments. We’ll need a full workup and analysis. Grievous said that he knows how to maintain them, but replacements and modification is beyond him. He’ll probably have needed a Tinker no matter what he had decided to do with his life.

Composite had been very interested in the piece of Grievous’ armour we had given her. Dragon had mentioned that she was looking for a collaborative project to make use of her time here. Maybe this would work?

I open up an instant messenger program and send the suggestion off. Dragon’s reply was quick - she said that she had been just about to suggest it to me. I chuckle - great minds think alike. I give formal approval for the proposal. Hopefully the project will convince Composite to sign on with us on a more permanent basis.

A ping signals the reply to the email I had sent earlier. The request had been approved and two squads of troopers looking for more adventurous work were arriving here by Tuesday. I open the profiles sent to me. It was a mix of recruits, regulars and veterans - none of them had worked together before. Like I had requested, they had a diverse set of additional qualifications and specialties.

That would be for the best - it would give Grievous the most opportunity to build his team how he wants. In our talk, Grievous had begrudged how his droids army lacked true specialists - according to him, they were all mass-produced generalists. Hopefully this would be to his liking.

That’s settled, then. What’s next?

Sagacity. He’s getting antsy - apparently he’s been picking up on some sort of nebulous threat with his power. According to Watchdog, his power switches from psychometry to precognitive proprioception if there was a direct danger to his person nearby.

That wasn’t quite what’s happening here, but the fact that he’s been having trouble with his psychometry work suggests that something has changed. An infiltration?

Maybe. Best be safe and do a few sweeps. I type up the orders and send them down the chain.

A ping draws my attention. An email from Dragon. It’s her preliminary report on Composite’s power analysis.

I give it a skim. Materials Tinker. Able to create materials with almost any set of properties imaginable. Favours working with polymer blends, metal alloys, and ceramic composites. Unique in that she has trouble making more typical Tinkertech devices. The most she’ll be able to manage by herself is an exceptionally tough set of low-tech armour and exceptionally sharp bladed weapons. 

Capable of more if she studies up and starts applying her power to more complex mundane and theorized devices. Dragon knows that hyper-elastic polymers and room-temperature superconductors are within her capabilities. Becomes much more powerful with a supporting Tinker providing the designs for Tech. Dragon rates her as high priority for recruitment. 

Makes sense - Dragon’s tech will undoubtedly become much more potent with access to Composite’s more exotic materials. I quickly type up an approval for a much more generous recruitment pitch. We can afford to spend much more if it means that our best asset becomes even more versatile.

I stretch in my chair and glance at the time. Six o’clock. Time to head home, then. I stand, putting on my jacket, sending the command to lock my computer system up for the night. 

Leaving my office, I flick off the lights. On my way out of the building, I pass Grievous sitting in one of the employee lounges with a view over the city. He looks to be deep in thought, so I pass without disturbing him.


End file.
